


Wicked Waltz

by TheTVJunkie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: C-C-P (Chase-Catch-Punish), Cat-and-Mouse-Game, Complete, Creepy Atmosphere, Dark magic/artefact, Don't we all love a good hunt?, F/M, Galant Lucius, Lucius at his arrogant best, Quick-witted Hermione, Rough Sex, UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension), Vaginal Sex, dub-con, grumpy hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTVJunkie/pseuds/TheTVJunkie
Summary: Hermione Granger has dedicated her adult life to bringing the acceptance of true equality between Muggleborns, Half-Bloods, and Purebloods to the wizarding world. The process has proven to be slow, tedious, and marked by constant throwbacks which leaves the young witch increasingly bitter and cynical. When she is required to attend a Ministry Ball as a spokesperson for said cause, Hermione is confronted with her ideological nemesis, Lucius Malfoy. Heated debates and cunning manipulations ensue, unexpected sparks fly. But when the young witch accidentally stumbles over a dark and dangerous secret, her chances of leaving Malfoy Manor no worse for wear are drastically dwindling...We all know where this ends. Let the hunt begin!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Comments: 27
Kudos: 63





	1. Puppet On A String?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by whoever may hold the rights in this very moment you're reading this, various publishers and their corporate affiliates. All recognisable characters/situations/events happening are copyrighted by their respective owners. No money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 **A/N:** This naughty little fic is dedicated to severusluciuslover on tumblr who came up with the tag c-c-p (chase-catch-punish). I'm not so sure if the "punishment" is actual punishment, but I hope all in all it will live up to your expectations. :) For the dancing scene, please listen to the first 2:05 minutes of this classical, dark waltz song:

wwwDOTyoutubeDOTcom/watch?v=fPp3Qh-GRqs

* * *

Stifling a yawn, Hermione idly watched the bubbles in her champagne flute ascend. Ginny was nowhere to be seen, her only hope to get halfway sane through this ordeal which seemed to drag on forever. The bigger part of the afternoon she had been dutifully shaken dozen of hands, those of Muggleborns and wizards alike, faked smiles and pretended to listen to asinine drivel that unfortunately came with the tiresome social obligations part of her position at the Ministry of Magic.

Her ego stroked by being considered a war-hero, Hermione had embraced her new role of Representative for Muggleborn Equation, her main aspiration being to render extinct the stubborn and still wide-spread belief that blood purity still came with certain privileges and irrefutable superiority. The young witch was known for her ardent speeches and campaigns, all focusing on establishing Muggleborns as true equals to Half-and Purebloods in the minds of post-war wizarding society which was only warming to that idea, very, very reluctantly. Which is why Hermione's enthusiasm turned sour little by little, leaving her cranky and easily irritated most of the time these days.

It was her "Just-look,-I'm-such-a-precious-Muggleborn" poster girl status that had brought her into her current predicament of having to partake in this ridiculous Ministry ball; bored half to death while "celebrating (theoretical) equality" in a surrounding that made her feel anxious and uneasy on top. She had a traumatic history with this house and with this very room in particular.

Frowning, the disgruntled young woman took in the scenery unfolding before her. – Gone was the dark and gloomy atmosphere, gone the stench of seared flesh along with the haunting sound of breaking bones and Bellatrix Lestrange's lunatic cackling. As if in mockery, the Drawing Room of Malfoy Manor now shone in new and glorious splendour; heavy, dark mahogany-panelling lined the walls from floor to ceiling, many of which were adorned with sumptuous, gold-rimmed moving portraits of long-deceased, and strikingly exclusively silver-blond ancestors, of the history-charged and oh-so noble bloodline of the Malfoy family. Many of the portraits, though, were unoccupied. Only a handful of the high-borns had deigned to pay attention to the scandalous gathering of way to many Muggleborns sullying their ancient halls, an outraged look of disgust on their chiselled features as they could do nothing but watch in agonised silence while the unworthy "Mudblood scum" mindlessly kept on sipping an innumerable sum of Galleons' worth in champagne from the aristocrats' priceless, centuries-old crystal glasses.

An inviting fire flared up in the over-sized hearth on the far wall when the sun eventually set, the flames refracting their light beautifully in the softly clanking prisms of the richly ornate chandeliers that magically floated over the merry crowd in slow circles.

Her frown growing deeper, Hermione downed the sparkly content of her flute in one go, as unrefined as possible so, in mute protest of her unwanted participation in this presumptuous travesty.

"Ah, Miss Granger, there you are," A familiar voice ended her train of thought. Gleefully, Mr. Big-glesworth, Hermione's boss, a round-faced, older wizard of short build shook her hand. "Glad you could make it, my dear!"

"It's not that I had much of a choice, did I now?" Hermione, frowning anew, replied accusingly.

"Now, now," Mr. Bigglesworth said, taking her empty glass. "Why don't you enjoy yourself a bit? This place is magnificent!"

"Oh yes, it is magnificent all right, " the witch retorted, "and it completely defies the purpose of my job's mission." She waved a dismissive hand about the room for emphasis. "If this doesn't scream privilege to you I don't know what is!"

Hermione made to pass by him. "If you'll excuse me now, Sir, I've shaken enough sweaty hands for one day and I've surely lost enough brain cells by dumbing down for all that useless and superficial chit-chat that has been bestowed upon me for hours on end. Good night, Sir."

"Miss Granger, wait," Mr. Bigglesworth seized her arm firmly. "There's one more thing you'll have to do for the Ministry, will you?" he smiled at her sweetly, "A dance is all I ask for."

"A dance?" she asked incredulously. "Does your wife know about this?"

"No, no, not with me, dear," the chubby wizard laughed nervously while subtly dragging Hermione in the direction of the dance floor. "With the master of the mansion, that is."

"I. Will. NOT. Dance. With. Draco!" Hermione exclaimed heatedly, before pointing towards her stilettos, "And just for your information, my feet hurt like crazy from having to wear these instruments of torture. Do you have any idea what you're putting me through?"

Bigglesworth ignored her whining, helplessly wondering why this stubborn female found no joy in playing princess for a day, unlike other ladies her age would do with great pleasure. Truth be told, he had never seen her wear any other footwear than comfy shoes and Muggle jeans and jumpers underneath her official robes, but didn't all girls dream of events like this? Probably not. This one was too head-strong to reduce herself to be a pretty, but somewhat hollow caricature of her true self.

"I brought the press," the old codger whispered and it was just now that Hermione noticed the bunch of reporters, cameras at the ready, which her sneaky boss had in tow. "To make sure the wizarding world sees the progress, the fruit of our labour of Muggleborns and Purebloods meeting on equal footing, so to speak." He scratched his head, choosing his wording carefully.

"Hermione, you're a Muggleborn icon," he tried to appease her, deciding it would be more strategic to give her the approval she was after in everything, appeal to her Gryffindor values which she held true to the day. "As much as he's the embodiment of Pureblood status. He even went as far as offering his premises for this event to take place, just imagine, this mansion, a bastion of blood purity, purest of the pure, to _Muggleborns_."

Hermione's boss ranted on excitedly before adding with a flinch, "His ancestors probably turn over in their graves this very moment we speak… Now come on, for the greater good, as in the olden days…, please?"

Much to Hermione's dismay, Mr. Bigglesworth's words had indeed struck a chord in the young woman and so she begrudgingly gave in.

"Fine, but after this stupid charade I'm free to go." She insisted.

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear," Her boss answered in the affirmative, happy to have succeeded in changing her mind. "Just do this and stay for a wee hour after it, then you'll be free to go wherever you wish!"

"Bring on ferret boy then," Hermione said, lackluster. "Let's get this over with quickly."

"Oh, about _that_ …" the old wizard cleared his throat, "I'm afraid you won't be dancing with the young Sir."

"No, she won't." A suave voice directly behind her startled Hermione and she spun around, alarmed. "She'll be dancing with me, _one and only_ Master of this mansion."

The witch's amber eyes grew wide and instinct immediately dictated her to take a step back, thereby treading on her boss's foot with one of her pointy heels. He gave a pained whimper which she couldn't care less about.

"You???" Hermione breathed in sheer disbelief. Before her stood, tall and proud, none other than Lucius Malfoy, like an uncanny ghost of a long-gone past whom she had never expected to cross paths with ever again.

Rumour had it that, after the war and Azkaban prison Lord Malfoy had become a recluse, completely withdrawn in one of his many country estates that lay scattered all around the globe. Rita Skeeter had claimed that one of her dubious sources had spotted the former bon vivant somewhere at the French coast, but not a single word of his actual whereabouts had made it into the news whilst those two years.

Hermione vividly remembered Lucius from her earlier, equally unwanted, stay at Malfoy Manor. – He'd been a broken man, battered and bruised. A mere shell of his usual self, dishevelled, scruffy, and rather hobo-esque in physical appearance with dark circles under his eyes; matted, dull hair, and stubble on his sickly sunken cheeks.

That pathetic memory couldn't be further from the present reality, though. Much like the infamous Drawing Room, its owner had undergone a bewildering transformation for the better.

He looked doubtlessly vital, very much alive and kicking. His very posture emanated ethereal beauty as he stood stately and regal, dressed in immaculate finery that flattered and accentuated his broad-shouldered frame. Not a single stubble could be found on his smooth skin and Hermione couldn't help but envy him for the shiny, platinum-blond tresses that, meanwhile grown a bit longer than she recalled, silkily framing his angular face.

For a moment she wondered what nefarious deal with the devil he must have struck to regain such a stunning rejuvenation. Glumly, the young woman was reminded of just how much time and effort it had taken her to wrestle the tangled rat's nest she called hair into a half-way decent, pinned up-do.

Life just wasn't fair. On so many levels.

It was the popping of flashbulbs that made her snap out of her stupor and she had to blink a few times.

"Miss Granger," Lucius purred, watching her intently down the length of his aristocratic nose. "How kind of you to join my festivities."

The current scenario gave the young witch a strong feeling of déjà vu; and her mind instantly went down memory lane to the day at Flourish & Blott's when Lucius and she had first met, aeons ago at the beginning of her second year in Hogwarts.

"Positively delectable!" A traitorous little voice piped up in the confused witch's less rational part of her brain.

Hermione blinked rapidly, shaking off her newly found fascination, and had just started to spit out a sharp-tongued comment on how he selfishly made this event his pompous re-initiation into wizarding Haute volée instead of acknowledging its original purpose when she left the rest of the sentence hanging mid-air.

The musicians of the orchestra on the far end of the ballroom had started tuning their instruments and the lively buzz of chatter of the guests, happily engaged in meaningless conversation, slowly but steadily died down.

"Shall we?" Lucius asked politely with a curt nod, extending his left hand as an offer to dance. Once again, a frenzy of flashing cameras blinded the young woman momentarily, capturing the headline-grabbing gesture for the public.

The lights dimmed magically, save for the monumental chandelier directly above the marble dance floor and the guests rallied around it in gleeful anticipation of a scintillating performance. Mr. Big-glesworth shot Hermione a pleading glance not to make a scene and when the orchestra began to strike up a soft tune that indicated a waltz, the young witch reluctantly seized the proffered hand.

Hermione allowed herself to but hovered into the classical promenade position, ignoring the lump that had started to form in her throat the second she had first set eyes on her surprise dancing partner. Luckily, she was adept enough in ballroom dancing for her feet to move of their own volition properly, yet her mind seemed to draw a blank every time she was trying to wrap her head around her current situation.

For a while they covered a lot of ground, the usual rise and fall action allowing at least a modicum of distance between them.

But all of a sudden there was a shift in music.

The tempo upped, the melody grew darker and a feeling of impending doom crept up in Hermione who soon found herself being sent into whirls, pivots, and twirls before she could even begin to fathom what was happening.

The mesmerised witch was rolled out with gusto, only to be rolled back in in the same, heated fashion; repeatedly bumping against Lucius as the physical contact, no longer so subtle, increased with pirouette after pirouette. Hermione never realised just when she had succumbed to just naturally following his lead, audacious as it were. At some point, her surroundings did no longer register on her and she was unable to break eye-contact with the smug blond wizard who so skilfully swept her off her feet. When the wicked waltz came to its inevitable end, peaking in a dramatic crescendo, Hermione was bent in an equally dramatic, final ending figure that had her dipped deep enough for her hair to almost touching the floor before she was recovered at an agonisingly slow pace.

Seconds that felt like hours dragged on by before a photographer broke the spell, immortalising the charged moment for prosperity. It felt like everybody in the room had held their breaths, staring, envying, and prying. A frenzy of flashing cameras followed and the ill-assorted pair came to stand next to each other, facing the crowd. They were treated to vociferous standing ovations which culminated as Lord Malfoy breathed a media-effective kiss on Miss Granger's hand in consummate chivalry.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, gawking after the older Malfoy in sheer astonishment as he vanished in the surrounding crowd. The latter took their host's disappearance as their cue to venture onto the dance floor in merry consensus. An unexpected, sharp tug on the witch's arm eventually made the flabbergasted young woman snap out of her stupor.

"Hermione," came Ginny's urgent voice, the redhead clicking her fingers in front of Hermione's face. "This is getting embarrassing. Let's go. Now." The curly-haired witch followed Ginny suit; hastily rushing from the dancing area towards a nearby exit. When they came to a halt, Hermione was shaking her head dizzily as if trying to ban a bad dream from her waking thought.

"What the heck was that?" Ginny stood in front of her, arms akimbo, "Since when are you, you of all people, susceptible to such blatant manipulation? I almost joked on my quiche when I saw your puppet-on-a-string performance."

All Hermione could do was blink, the right words for defending herself eluding her. They just wouldn't come.

"I…don't know," she tried lamely, "I was…sort of swept away by the moment. I have no idea as to why."

"That creep must have hexed you in some way." Ginny suggested.

"No, no, I felt now magic settle." Hermione replied in the negative, shaking her head for emphasis.

"Mh-hm." Ginny arched an accusing brow, but it ran from her face as she continued. "Well, I have an idea as to why," The red-head chuckled despite herself. "But….uggghhhh," Ginny wrinkled her nose in unveiled disgust.

"Obviously, I wasn't thinking." Hermione interrupted her sarcastically, slowly coming to her senses.

"Oh, I wouldn't say you weren't thinking," Ginny conceded, smiling mischievously as she continued, "But with the wrong part of your anatomy, I'm afraid. You know, I understand the appeal, theoretically, but,"

Once again, she was cut short. "Ginny?"

"What?"

"Shut it." Some of Hermione's feistiness came back. "I made myself a fool. Period. Won't happen again."

Ginny nodded. "Then let's go home. I'm tired of this pretentious nonsense."

Hermione shot her wrist-watch a look then sighed in exasperation. "I'm not of the hook yet," she cursed under her breath. "Still about an hour to go for me. Damn that man Bigglesworth."

"It's alright, dear, it can't come any worse now, can it?" Ginny tried to console her and hugged her friend heartily. If only she knew how wrong her words would turn out to be.

"You will be all right. Just go to the lavatory and freshen up a bit. See you on Monday, luv!"

"Yes, splashing water in my face seems like the right thing to do," Hermione agreed, softly touching her cheeks only to find them burning. "See you!"

Ginny and Hermione parted ways and, with some difficulty, the curly-haired witch was restroom-bound. She followed the signs, climbing steep stairs and crossing polished hallways, striding through richly ornamented doors and ivory-crested archways until she came to the sobering conclusion that she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Worse than that, she was completely lost. The sound of her own footsteps, the tell-tale clicking echo of her blasted heels began to unnerve her and a feeling of dread spread in her.

" _You're an easy target, giving away your whereabouts so noisily_ ," her inner voice of insecurity whispered.

" _Target? You're no target, there's nobody here but you in this blasted mausoleum right now. Get a grip, girl!_ " her voice of reason chimed in.

Hermione tried her best not to let apprehension get the better of her, still, she opted for slipping off her shoes nonetheless. Better safe than sorry, right?

Minutes felt like hours as she wandered around in eerie silence, losing her bearings completely as a look out of the window crushed any remainder of hope to find her way back. The soft lights of the Drawing Room were opposite of her and seemed far away, confirming what the witch had feared for a good while. She was in a whole different wing altogether.

_Blimey! Blimey! Blimey!_

What to do? For a moment the witch stood perfectly still, inwardly cursing the Ministry decree that this feast was to be a safe, wand-free event. The only source of light she had at her disposal was the dim wall lamps which, much to her dismay, only added to fuel her ever-growing feeling of imminent calamity. Shadows danced ominously in the corridors and alcoves at her every cautious step, the snoring portraits doing nothing to soothe her.

When she came to another dead end, Hermione felt like crying. This horrid mansion was a nightmarish maze!

In an impulsive, desperate attempt to end her odyssey she found herself calling into the dark.

"Hello?" her own voice reverberated back to her, spookily. "Is there anybody? I lost my way. I,….I,…. need to get back to the entrance hall, please, I…."

Long seconds ticked by while Hermione tensely listened for an answer to shred the overwhelming silence surrounding her. Nothing.

Nothing, but her drumming heartbeat.

Suddenly, there was a plopping sound behind her and Hermione gave a short scream of surprise as she spun around to face whoever they may be, clutching her high heels to her chest as she did so.

The tense girl let out a breath she didn't know she was holding at the appearance of…

a house elf.

A grumpy looking, old, tatter-clad house elf. But still just a house elf. Hermione didn't know what she had been expecting in her frightened state and she already felt stupid for acting so foolishly.

"Miss is lost?" the small creature asked unbelievingly.

"Yes, yes, I'm afraid I got lost," Hermione replied, heaving a sigh of relief, "Can you please bring me back to the entrance hall? I really need to get out of here."

She looked at her watch, frowning. She had spent almost 25 minutes wandering about.

The house-elf shook his head vehemently and Hermione's hopes sank once again. "House-elves is not allowed to apparates with visitors. Miss musts go by herselfs."

"But I told you I was lost!" Hermione began to bargain, "I don't know where to go to find the exit! Or at least the damn bathroom!"

The house-elf considered her for a little while, unmoved by her desperate pleading. "Miss goes there," he indicated towards a nearby hallway, "Down the nexts corridor to the rights, then turns lefts and down the stairs. Is only three rooms away from Drawing Room. Bathroom has lights on."

He then looked at her with what Hermione could have sworn was mockery. "Satras not understands how Miss could have misseds it."

"Why," Hermione replied sheepishly, ignoring the jibe that came from the uncooperative little elf who went by the name Satras, as it seemed. "Thank you, I'll be on my way then."

She swiftly hurried past the elf, blissfully unaware of the vicious little grin the small creature sported. It gloated to itself in complacency, its high-pitched, malicious cackle resounding from the cold walls of the huge hall as Satras popped out; the echo fading into nothingness.

Satras would not have to iron his hands today; that he was sure of.

Meanwhile, Hermione did as she was told and practically ran towards the corridor that had been pointed at. Eagerly, she followed Satra's instructions, turning to the left and to the right, swiftly down the stairs and…

stopped dead in her tracks.

Confused, she looked in each direction, then back up the stairs behind her.

There was only one door, right before her. However, no other adjacent rooms, let alone in closer proximity. All other corridors ended in pointed windows.

The door was closed, but through the keyhole fell a soft light and marked a spot on the floor.

"This just has to be it," Hermione mumbled to herself as if willing her words to be true by force, "He said there would be lights. This MUST be the facilities."

Inhaling sharply, the witch braced herself and pushed the heavy doors open with some effort, its creaking hinges a testament to its incredible weight.

This was no toilet.

Not even close.

While expecting some pompous facilities with golden faucets and white marble, Hermione found herself in a spacious hall instead, some parts of it stretching over two floors at the far end. It took her eyes a few moments to grow accustomed to the dimness, but as if on cue, the fire in the hearth of the entrance area, low and sputtering so far, sprang up noisily and began to burn a bit brighter and higher, startling Hermione who gave a squeak of surprise. Along with the hearth's fire, at least a dozen sconces that ran about the sheer endless walls flared to life, emitting a warm glow and thereby allowed her a tad bit better view. The witch gasped as she became aware of the fact that every inch of wall space, floor to the high ceiling, was lined with books, heavy, ancient tomes that must have held many a Wizarding mystery or dark secret, crammed in ornate shelves.

She squinted her eyes, making out some decorative magical artefacts and statues on pedestals, neatly placed at the beginning of each transverse row of books.

Most of this place though was still swallowed by darkness, save for the pale moonlight that fell through an occasional window and the flickering shadows dancing around her kept Hermione from venturing much further into the room. She was out of Gryffindor courage for the day, her mind and body still tense from all that had transpired so far.

Letting her shoes drop to the floor, she took in her closer surroundings and spotted a liquor cabinet. After some moments of pondering, she decided the high-proof liquid might calm her nerves and allow her to bring herself to make it at least to the first row of books. This was such a unique opportunity after all! No way in hell would she get official access to the infamous Malfoy library, probably the most exclusive private collection in whole wizarding Britain. A millennium, if not more, of meticulously collected first editions and long out-of-print volumes, plenty of them probably restricted, banned or its existence even obliviated from the public's memory.

Thus, the overzealous book worm in her took over, guiding her to the cabinet promptly where the witch produced a crystal decanter of Firewhisky from it. She filled a glass a good three fingers full, downing it without further ado, her face contorting at the awful taste. Hermione put the Whisky and glass on the low table that sat between the two tufted, leather wing-back chairs that faced the fireplace, uncertain if she would want some more liquid courage.

Straightening, the young woman carefully made it to the first transverse row books opposite the hearth. Eagerly, she eagerly scanned title after title, some of them making her eyes go wide in sheer disbelief at their existence, caressing the spines of other books with a faraway and wistful look. She was sure she could spend years in this library and still not be sated in her thirst for knowledge.

When she came to the corner of the last shelf in row one, she reeled with excitement as she discovered an extra special volume. Reverently, she took it from the shelf, her fingertips ever so carefully roaming over the heavy tome.

This book she had only heard of through the grapevine; not had it been just banned centuries ago, no, all known issues in existence had been destroyed since it held the most wicked and malevolent darkest magic, stirring warmongering racism and the book being a dark artefact in itself.

The fascinated witch inwardly snorted. – In Muggle terms, this book was basically the equivalent to a lovechild of a purple unicorn shitting rainbows paired with the pureblood wizard ideology version of "Mein Kampf". So, of course, if anyone were in its possession, it had to be the Malfoys.

Extinct. Rare. Evil. Ticks all the boxes.

And still, despite herself, Hemione was itching to have a quick look for herself…just one teeny-tiny look…

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the witch who was so immersed in her sensational find, she never heard the measured creaking of the door nor when it clicked shut with momentous finality.

* * *

A/N: Evil cliffie, I know. ;) Chapter 2 is in progress; please let me know if you enjoyed chapter 1! Thx!


	2. Trading Barbs

"Now now, whom do we have here?" A sonorous voice drawled, startling Hermione. She spun around, a little squeak of shock escaping her. Busted.

Lucius had entered silently, sneaking up half-way into the dimly-lit room.

He tutted in overly dramatic fashion and Hermione defied her every instinct to roll her eyes. 

"Trespassing is not a trivial offence, you know," The blond wizard shot her a smug smile, "I have every right to set my dogs on you."

"Trespassing???" The witch huffed, ignoring the idle threat, "I'm not trespassing, I was invited here in case that fact has slipped your mind!"

The Malfoy patriarch paid her little outrage no heed though, languidly propping his cane against one of the plush, richly upholstered wing back chairs nearby. 

"I beg to differ," He stated matter-of-factly, slowly advancing her, "All guests have been granted access to the main building, and certainly not to my private wings." 

"Ha," Hermione exclaimed, "I can assure you, I had no intention of ending up here," She jutted her chin up in defiance, "I lost my way and your surly house-elf gave me the wrong directions."

"Is that so?" Lucius inquired, drawling the words haughtily.

He spotted the opened bottle. "I see you deemed it appropriate to help yourself to my special Firewhisky,"

"I just needed something to calm my nerves," She conceded begrudgingly, realising too late that she had given away a piece of information she hadn't meant to. 

"To calm your nerves?" He replied, an eyebrow raised in mock surprise, "What, pray tell, did upset you so much?"

Dead silence reigned between them for tense seconds. 

"He knows! He knoooooows!" That godforsaken little voice piped up in Hermione's mind once again.

"Never mind," Hermione retorted before long, arms akimbo. "I'll pay for it then. How much for half a glass of your bloody booze?"

Lucius' lips quirked in amusement, "As much as I appreciate the gesture, I doubt you can afford it."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione countered, her cankerous self easily triggered these days and obviously Lucius knew how to push her buttons all right. "I know how lowly you think of us Muggleborns, but even you must realise that our blood-status doesn't render us destitute as a logical consequence! Just name a price and I'll gladly pay it."

"Very well," Malfoy offered with a purposely badly stifled chuckle, "When I auctioned it, I paid the substantial amount of 5.500 Galleons for a single bottle." 

"5.500 Galleons?" Hermione blurted, incredulous, quickly doing the math in her head – at the current exchange rate that was a good 27.000 pounds! Even if she'd only have to pay the tiny bit she'd been actually drinking, it was still a sheer insane sum.

The witch visibly blanched. He was right; she had by no means the reserves to cover that insane sum. She did have some money but, true to colour, Hermione had scrimped and saved, putting it out at interest. Impulse buys were against her nature, let alone such ludicrous purchases. 

A small bead of sweat rolled down her temple and she couldn't shrug off an ever-growing sense of foreboding.

"No Firewhisky can be worth that much," The witch claimed, irritated. 

"Oh it can be, when it's 1.250 years old." Lucius replied suavely, overtly enjoying her fruitless attempts at wriggling herself out of the affair by means of common sense and logic.

"Ha! At that age it would have been undrinkable and taste like vinegar!" The witch insisted while she boldly stepped closer to him; her Gryffindor pride dictating her that she would not be cowed. Or at least, not as easily, that is.

"Did it taste like vinegar?" Lucius challenged. 

Hermione inwardly cursed. "No." 

"It was a good vintage, you know." The dark wizard crooned, steadily closing the distance between them and, much to the chagrin of her inner lioness, Hermione took a step back instinctively. Nervousness reared its ugly head, in addition to a strong, overshadowing feeling of dread which made her both uncomfortable, yet…excited. An emotion she only recalled from the times of war, so many a year ago. 

Her heart began drumming faster at the memory.

"And if your sour expression is anything to go by, I presume you lack the necessary funds, don't you?" Lucius' words snapped her back to reality. 

Again, an oppressive silence fell and the tension became painfully palpable. 

The anxious witch mulled over her options quickly. 

"No, I don't," Hermione said at length, through gritted teeth, and at a loss. 

A devilish sneer tugged at Malfoy's lips whilst he closed in on the witch's personal space deceptively casual. "As I expected."

"Now," He added with a silken growl that went straight to Hermione's nether regions, "How do you intend to make atonement? Any…ideas?"

Hermione found herself holding her breath; the innuendo not lost on her. Her cheeks flushed furiously and she backed away in disgruntled embarrassment and quelled arousal. 

"No," Hermione heard herself say, hardly audible. "None at all," She prayed for her words to sound more convincing than they did in her ears. 

Lucius tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, he seemed to consider her and, much to Hermione's surprise, retreated a couple of steps.

"Too bad," The dark wizard clipped, "In that case I see myself compelled to hand you over to the Aurors."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's cheeks still burned from the heady mix of emotions running through her, but his words effectively cut through her haze. 

"Well," Malfoy began ticking points off on his fingers, his demeanour all business, "In addition to trespassing comes theft,"

"That's petty theft a best!" Hermione objected fiercely, not caring that she cut him short so rudely.

Lucius glared down his nose at her, "Considering the object's worth, this is a much more serious crime, especially since you can't, nor want," He enunciated the last two words, "To Compensate for its value."

He paused strategically, giving her time to let his words sink in. 

Hermione was tied up in knots; she knew that she was indeed treading on dangerous ground. In legal terms, the cards were stacked against her. Thrice-damned, out-dated, Wizarding World law!

"Furthermore," Lucius purred as his eyes washed over her and stopped at the heavy tome, still in her hand. "I see we can add malicious injury of property to your case file as well. Touching library books ungloved," He reprimanded condescendingly, "One would think you of all people knew better…"

Book? Book!!! This is my out!

Relieved, the curly-haired witch triumphantly waved the cursed item she held. 

"All right," she cooed, suddenly emboldened by her new-found perspective; "Send for the Aurors. I'm sure they'd be very interested in learning about this priced possession of yours," Hermione revelled in rather uncharacteristic, malicious glee. 

"The consequences would be dire, or so I've heard," She gave him her sweetest faux smile, holding up the tome for him to easily recognise the title, "If I remember correctly the sentence for holding black-listed items is five to seven years in Azkaban…Maybe they might even give you your old cell…"

The belligerent witch was satisfied to see a little twitch on Malfoy's lips, although the rest of his face remained an icy façade.

"Touché," The dark wizard conceded gracefully after a moment of contemplation.

He purposefully took a step towards her, ire building underneath that cool veneer. 

In response, Hermione straightened at the approach, unwittingly trying to make herself appear taller than she was. 

"There are just some significant mistakes in your equation," Lucius growled, his voice suddenly so sinister it made the witch's skin crawl. The playful attempt at seducing her now gave lenience to an outright terrifying air of threat surrounding him, making goosebumps bloom across all over her flesh. And, much to her dismay, the ache between her legs pulsed madly.

"Which is?" She croaked, unwilling to let herself be easily intimidated by his physical presence looming over her much smaller frame. Not after she had stood her ground for so long! 

Yet, unquenched need and ever-growing arousal clouded her mind at an alarming speed, rendering her usual wit and brilliance increasingly useless. 

"This forbidden, cursed artefact," Lucius purred, pausing for effect, whilst Hermione desperately tried to seem calm and collected, "It has your fingerprints all over it, not mine. People might rightfully think it's yours. " 

Hermione gasped at his shameless prevarication. Her eyes darted about as she tried to find a clever reply, to regain that feeling of secure success that had her flying high mere seconds ago.

"But it's painstakingly clear that this is your blasted book, not mine," she insisted stubbornly but lamely, "As a Muggleborn it would make no sense for me to indulge in such hateful, pureblooded nonsense tirades of…"

All of Hermione's remaining hope was ripped from her when the dark wizard dealt her a verbal death blow.

"Which brings us to your second, fatal mistake," Lucius concluded silkily, proudly presenting her with his web of lies he had come up with oh so cunningly. 

"You're clearly trying to frame me," 

Hermione gulped at the audacious accusation.

"Which is why you came up with the clever idea of planting evidence in my library after you, obviously, gained entrance under the guise of attending the Ministry Ball," Malfoy kept spinning his vicious, fake progression of events while inching in on her ever closer. "The press is going to love this." 

"I…what???" Hermione was completely gobsmacked. Only a Slytherin could have come with such a preposterous idea and have a good chance of getting away with it.

"In addition to all the aforementioned offences," The blond wizard hissed, raising a solitary, condescending brow, "The attempt of framing me might get you a prison sentence of at least, hm, five to eight years?" He made a show of looking thoughtful, "I still have a few connections in Azkaban, my dear; I might pull a few strings for you to get you my old cell. – It was the only one that had an actual window." 

Hermione stared at Lucius in utter disbelief. She wanted to punch that unbearable haughtiness off his face, but her voice of reason bade her to keep her composure. Deep within, she knew that, with every impulse burst of temper, the hole she was digging for herself became deeper and wider. 

So, as much as it riled her, she had no proof of things have happened differently. Pensive memories were non-eligible at court since they could be tampered with easily, hence it would be his words against hers. 

She'd been both checkmated and outsmarted. A rare occurrence and Hermione took this very personally. 

"Fine," Hermione forced herself to relent, "No Aurors then."

"No Aurors." Lucius agreed. 

For long while neither of them spoke, they just kept glaring daggers at one another.

"It seems we're at an impasse," Malfoy eventually announced and Hermione nodded grudgingly. 

Once again, the conversation descended into a charged, awkward silence. 

Before long, Lucius gestured to Hermione, who still held the heavy tome firmly in her grasp.

"The book," He told her conversationally, "As you may have already noticed, is very soft to the touch, is it not?"

His tone was suspiciously nonchalant.

"Yes," Hermione stroked the spine reverently; it felt indeed very pleasant, like very fine leather, "What about it?" 

"When my great grandfather acquired it he had it bound in, let's say," Malfoy gave her an evil grin, "Appropriate skin." 

The penny dropped quickly, and Hermione flinched at the disgusting insinuation.

"Human skin???" She whispered, appalled. 

"Think again," the dark wizard suggested, eyes glinting with unspoken truth.

"Muggle skin???" Hermione's face twisted in mortified horror.

"Mudblood skin," Lucius corrected her with unveiled delight, revulsion dripping from every syllable of the derogatory appellation. 

Shell-shocked, Hermione's threw the book to the floor, recoiling as if burnt. Eyes wide, she jagged against the shelf behind her.

"Oh, spare me the hypocrisy," Lucius picked up the book and took yet another measured step towards her. "We are wont to bind books in animal skin," He leaned in closely, placing the heavy tome in the gap it had vacated, just beside her head. 

Hermione's urge to flee kicked in. This was all too much. Too much horror, too much unresolved tension, and too much of her traitorous body taking over. She seemed no longer in control of herself and that scared the living daylights out of her. As if on cue, Malfoy kept his outstretched arm where he had placed the book; quite effectively blocking Hermione's way. With a wall next to her on the other side, Hermione had manoeuvred herself, in every sense of the word, to be in a tight corner. 

"So you're implying that Muggleborns are animals?" The shaking witch heard herself say in a quavering voice. Her selfdefence mechanism, using anger as a shield, was crumbling.

"Why, you tell me," Lucius sneered at her, one aristocratic eyebrow raised, his lip twitching in patronising haughtiness. A combination intrinsically Lucius Malfoy. "You are one." 

"I am not an animal," Hermione whispered, "I am not an animal," she repeated mantra-like, probably more in order to convince herself than the dark wizard who savoured the way the impertinent Mudblood lost her nerves, pressing herself harder against the bookshelf. He was so close to her she could feel the heat emanating from his body. 

Gathering all of her remaining courage and willpower, Hermione ducked and slipped past Malfoy in front of her and the bookshelf behind her, tears welling in her eyes. Her only sane thought was Run!

"Fight or flight, Miss Granger," Lucius sardonic remark echoed after the exasperated witch, ringing in her ears as she fled into the depth, and false safety, of the library. "A very animal response, wouldn't you say?"

Laughter reverberated from the high, vaulted ceilings.

Hermione, running around like a headless chicken, quickly darted through the overabundance of narrow corridors and endless rows of bookshelves. Luckily she hardly made a sound, as she was bare-footed. The witch rounded corner after corner, only to find herself in a place she thought she'd been before and dead end after dead end. Her sense of direction was more and more ruptured the further she ventured in the all-encompassing semi-darkness, the eerie shadows dancing everywhere doing nothing to help her churning state of mind. 

Frantically, she abruptly decided to hide underneath an opulent table, the centre-piece of a reader's corner, urgent to come back to her senses. Hermione tried to shallow her breathing, afraid it would give away her whereabouts.

Clutching her hands over her mouth she intently listened. 

"Come out, come out," Malfoy spoke in a melodious sing-song voice, "There's no use hiding, you're never going to get away from me."

Hermione could hear his booted feet click on the marble floor, but apparently not all that close to her. His steps seemed to lead him in the opposite direction. The whole bizarre scenario reminded her of their encounter in the Hall of Prophecy at the Ministry of Magic.

"There's only one door in or out of my library," His voice sounded darkly, "And that is far out of your reach," 

Cautiously, Hermione poked her head around one of the massive table legs. If there was nowhere for her to go, she'd better keep constantly moving.

She just crouched out from underneath the table when she was unceremoniously grabbed by the hair and dragged up. 

The scream of surprise that escaped her even baffled the distraught witch herself. 

Her capturer, however, didn't seem impressed at all.

"So easily fooled by a simple spell of deceit, Miss Granger?" Lucius said dismissively, knotting a fist in her hair to hold her at bay, "I can't help, but be a little disappointed. I thought you'd prove to be more of a challenge."

In response to the continued and severe disparagement she'd been subjected to the whole evening, something in Hermione snapped. She began kicking and screaming, eager to break away, trying to slap him, scratch him, bite him, but to no avail. 

The blusterous witch was easily wrestled to the ground, supine, no match for a grown wizard. Hermione knew she had the chances of a snowball in hell trying to dislodge him, let alone without her wand at the ready. Lucius straddled her thighs in order to stop the furious kicking, let go of her hair, and easily caught her wrists in his grip, pinning them to the floor beside her head. 

"Leave me the fuck alone," She snapped, "I am not an animal! I am not your prey!" A broken sob ended her temper tantrum, her voice a mere whisper now, "I am no lesser." 

Long seconds ticked by while neither of them spoke nor moved. Hermione slowly calmed down and it was just then that she realised the delicate situation she was in. As her anger slowly ebbed away, her arousal surfaced with a vengeance and she was too exhausted to fool herself in pretending her body did not welcome Lucius' touch.

Pupils dilated with desire, her heart began to thrum violently anew when, most unexpectedly, Lucius leaned down to kiss her. 

She felt his grip loosening and then her wrists were free, yet she dared not to move them in fear of forcing another go at restraining her. 

"Yet here you are," Lucius conceded evenly, "All flustered and wanton like some bitch in heat, every ounce of your body betraying your attraction to me." His mouth grazed the shell of her ear as he whispered, "I can smell you, little witch. There's no use denying it."

Hermione cringed at the bitter truth of his statement, listening with bated breath as he continued. 

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Lucius sat up, smirking at her knowingly, "You gave yourself away the very moment you set foot on the dance floor with me," 

Unexpectedly, some part of Hermione's feisty spirit shortly won out over her mesmerisation, "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy; any men could have roused that reaction from my sex-starved self today."

"Really?" Lucius replied in feigned indignation, before adding silkily, "Then you are more of a tramp than I'd given you credit for."

Hermione blinked, much to her surprise his jibe held no vitriol; it almost seemed as if he was just teasing her. If he had really wanted to force himself on her, he could have done so already, multiple times, that is. Was he tricking her again? Baiting her with the illusion of free will? 

She pouted, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "I hate you and everything you stand for!" 

"The feeling is mutual," Lucius countered skilfully, in a voice steeped in sex and want. His thumb stroking the hollow of her throat evoked, yet again, massive arousal at the same pace as fear of being choked to death in the supine witch.

Further protest did on her lips as Lucius' lips came crashing down on hers again, searing her. 

One of his hands started roaming over her hip and thigh until it found the walking slit at the side. It was easily ripped, as was her skimpy underwear, allowing the front of her dress being pushed above her hips. 

The sound of tearing the fabric made Hermione shudder with anticipation and in an unexpected semblance of boldness she pushed hard, rolling atop of a baffled Lucius Malfoy, likewise straddling him as she, beset with bravado, fumbled with his crested belt buckle. Amused, he let her do as she pleased for a little while, only manhandling her back into a position of his liking, namely on her back and vanquished, when she had finally managed to free his cock, pulsing and rock-hard, from his offending garment. 

"Not fair!" Hermione protested as she mock-struggled in his grip, hands held securely above her head.

"Everything is fair in love and war," The dark wizard quoted, sneering down at the panting witch as she wriggled and writhed beneath him at his assault. 

Hermione snorted, very unladylike. "This is hardly love," 

"No?" Lucius quipped hoarsely before silkily concluding, "Must be war then."

That said, he roughly plunged into her with humiliating ease; eliciting a strangled gasp from Hermione. The initial pain was excruciating and exquisite and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. All self-control deserted her and she arched her back, bringing up her hips to meet his punishing, unrelenting thrusts, craving his violent touch with a fierce desire she never would have thought possible. 

All of Hermione's denied daydreams - and vivid nightmares - whisked away under the blinding rapture of reality, her brain effectively shutting down and blocking out all enmity that had ever been between them. 

Loins slapping loudly against her arse, Hermione was rendered completely incoherent, Lucius grunting and muttering strings of profanity in ecstatic bliss on top of her. He gripped the back of her legs and lifted them up over his shoulders, the position allowing even deeper penetration, and drove into her hard again. 

Hermione's eyes rolled into the back of her head when she felt herself teetering on the edge and she climaxed with a carnal wail, a flash of pained pleasure raging through her with such force she lost all sense of place, the sensation sending sparks of light shooting behind her eyelids. 

Face awash in utter bliss, Lucius' movements became frantic at Hermione contracting around him, so he flung his head back in the final stretch, his orgasm blistering through him as he burst deep inside her, all the while roaring his completion. 

_________________________________

A/N: So, that's it. Steamy sex after lots of bickering and tons of unresolved sexual tension. I hope you enjoyed this little journey! I surely did.^^ Please let me know what you think! 

Oh, and for the bold, mature readers - here's a clip from a p**n site that inspired some of the sexy bits (only click when you're 18+ and willing to see adult content. But then again, you're here, so... you're probably used to smut anyway. ;) Better switch off the sound as the background noise is awful. Enjoy!

Click [here](https://de.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5fc401d3c1e8a)


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